Tyrell had finally relaxed his hands on the silver wheel. He had to after they started to go numb. He’d had such a tight grip on it that he was surprised there weren’t indentions in the shiny metal.
At first, panic had held him frozen when Makayla stepped away from the helm. It took a moment for him to understand what she was doing. She had moved back a few steps to give him time to get accustomed to handling the sailboat on his own.
After a few minutes, she had moved a little further away to sit on the back section of the cockpit. He’d been too afraid to turn around, but he knew she was there. Every once in a while, she would call out a soft instruction to him to turn the wheel either starboard, to the right, or to the port, to the left.
They stayed like that, not talking unless it was
